Triumph of a new god

The babe sat in the temple waiting for the touch of Flame
Three days he’d seen unlit, and on the fourth it was the same
The priest talked to his mother as his father watched them, grave
And baby they turned over, hoping for his life to save
The priest approached the pyre, burning bright with holy light
The infant held outstretched as outside day gave way to night
But darkness birthed a messenger to seal the child’s fate
On wings of ebon flew into the mountain through the gate
Through city underground and over pillars, arches, walls,
Then through an open window, on to taint those hallowed halls
And just before the child could take the spark into his flesh
It dove into the flames and in its pain began to thresh
The embers it threw out set fire to the lightless son
And thus the Sword of Leyofone was chosen: it is done.